夜雨聆风And you’ll meet Conway Jefferson. He’s a dear—a perfect dear. It’s the sad-dest story imaginable. Had a son and daughter, both of whom he loveddearly. They were both married, but they still spent a lot of time at home.
His wife, too, was the sweetest woman, and he was devoted to her. Theywere flying home one year from France and there was an accident. Theywere all killed: the pilot, Mrs. Jefferson, Rosamund, and Frank. Conwayhad both legs so badly injured they had to be amputated. And he’s beenwonderful—his courage, his pluck! He was a very active man and nowhe’s a helpless cripple, but he never complains. His daughter-in-law liveswith him—she was a widow when Frank Jefferson married her and shehad a son by her first marriage—Peter Carmody. They both live with Con-way. And Mark Gaskell, Rosamund’s husband, is there too most of thetime. The whole thing was the most awful tragedy.”
“And now,” said Miss Marple, “there’s another tragedy—”
Mrs. Bantry said: “Oh yes—yes—but it’s nothing to do with the Jeffer-sons.”
“Isn’t it?” said Miss Marple. “It was Mr. Jefferson who went to the po-lice.”
“So he did … You know, Jane, that is curious….”
